


Old Habits

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> This was my entry for the first round of <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/jossverse_las/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/jossverse_las/"><strong>jossverse_las</strong></a> , off the prompt "Habits." I got voted out in the first round, so no guarantees that you'll love it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Habits

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[old habits](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/old%20habits), [spike/angel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fangel)  
  
  
---|---  
  
  
**Title:** Old Habits  
**Pairing:** Spike/Angel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summary:** This was my entry for the first round of [](http://community.livejournal.com/jossverse_las/profile)[**jossverse_las**](http://community.livejournal.com/jossverse_las/) , off the prompt "Habits." I got voted out in the first round, so no guarantees that you'll love it.

_   
**Old Habits (1/1)**   
_

**  
Old Habits  
**

 

“I’ve _told_ you not to touch my cars,” Angel roared, and he swung an enormous fist toward Spike’s face.

Spike ducked, which meant the blow only glanced off the top of his scalp, and he bent down to head-butt Angel in the solar plexus. Angel went flying backwards, onto his ass. “Then give me one of my own, wan—” Spike began, but Angel used his legs to sweep Spike off his feet, and Spike landed with a thump on top of his grandsire.

They rolled around on the floor, growling and snarling. Spike managed a few satisfying bites out of Angel’s flesh before Angel wrapped his mitts about Spike’s neck, keeping Spike’s fangs away from himself. So Spike kneed Angel hard in the bollocks. Angel howled but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pried one hand away, picked up something large and heavy—an end table, Spike reckoned—and smashed it down over Spike’s head.

Dazed, Spike sagged. Angel released him, rolled out from beneath him, and sprang to his feet. Spike shook his head and tried to regain his senses, but just as he managed to stand in a wobbly sort of way, Angel grabbed the table’s broken off leg and thrust it at Spike’s chest.

Spike had a split second to wonder whether he’d stay dust this time, and then Angel was yelping and dropping the piece of wood, which had suddenly burst into flame.

Wesley marched into the room, clucking like a disapproving schoolmaster. He mumbled a word in a language Spike didn’t quite catch and the fire went out, leaving a scorched bit on Angel’s carpet.

“Didn’t you two have this row last week? And the week before that?” Wesley said.

“Last week we fought because he drank all my whiskey,” Angel muttered. “This week he wrecked my Ferrari. My Ferrari!”

Spike sat on Angel’s desk, knocking over a pile of papers as he did so. “So pick up your phone and you can order another just like it, pillock.”

“It was a limited edition!”

Angel looked as if he might be about to start swinging at Spike again, but Wesley stepped between them with his hands held up. “Enough! Angel, you’ve that meeting with the K’lenarch delegation in less than half an hour, and you look like you’ve been wrestling an alligator. Go change and wash up. I’ll have Harmony get someone in here to clean.”

Angel opened his mouth to argue, but then he gritted his teeth together and stomped off into the lift. He was limping slightly, Spike noticed happily. Spike remained on the desk, rubbing at his bruised neck. Wesley glared at him. “Why do you do insist on doing this? You irritate him on purpose, and you know what the results will be.” He waved his hands about to indicate the damage to the office.

Spike looked down at his boots like a chastened schoolboy. “Old habits,” he mumbled.

“Well, break them,” Wesley snapped. “Angel has enough problems already. There must be something useful you can do here.” With a final scowl, he turned on his heel and left the room. He slammed the door loudly behind himself.

Spike swung his foot and toyed with the letter opener he found on the desk. Ivory and likely older than he was, Spike reckoned. Suddenly, he slammed it into a pile of papers. The tip snapped off and Spike hurled the rest of the opener against the wall. Fine, then. He’d go. Find somewhere he was wanted.

But first he’d tell the old sod what he thought of him.

When Spike emerged from the lift into Angel’s penthouse, he could see steam escaping through the open bathroom door and smell Angel’s poncy soap. Well, Spike didn’t fancy waiting any longer. So he marched into the bathroom.

Angel was just getting out of the shower. Water dripped from his hair—which looked less ridiculous now that it wasn’t standing straight up—and ran in rivulets down his broad chest, across his belly, into the dark hairs at his groin, and then down the shaft of his thick, soft cock. He froze in the act of reaching for his towel, and Spike found he couldn’t for the unlife of him tear his gaze away.

It had been over a century since he saw Angel naked. He’d forgotten how magnificent he was, pale and powerful, like the statue of a Roman god.

For an endless moment, neither of them moved.

And then, as Spike watched, Angel’s cock twitched and began to harden, until it was jutting out stiffly. At the same time, Spike’s trousers became uncomfortably tight.

Angel took a step toward him, and another, and Spike braced himself for a blow. But instead Angel grabbed Spike’s shoulders and pulled him close, so that Spike’s clothes were soaked and their pelvises were tightly together. Uttering a strange sort of groan, Angel licked delicately at a trickle of blood that was still sticky at the corner of Spike’s mouth. It was Angel’s own blood, but also Spike’s, and, at that feel of that tongue on his skin, Spike thrust his hips impossibly harder against Angel’s and tilted his head, making an invitation of his sore and bared neck.

Angel shuddered against him and bit. With what would be his last coherent thought for some time, Spike decided it was bloody time to pick up a few new habits.

 

_  
\---fin---  
_

 


End file.
